Category Archives: History

April 19, 2025

So I made it to Lexington, Concord and Arlington for the big 250th commemorations on this past Saturday, although I missed the actual reenactments. I knew I would never get to Lexington at the crack of dawn, but I did have some hopes for Concord. Logistics (parking and road closures) dictated that I couldn’t get close until later, but I did find myself right in the midst of a festive parade! All in all, it was a really fun day, unseasonably warm, with engaged and happy people everywhere I went. I probably could have planned it better: the local news emphasized the size of the expected crowds and the fact that there would be NO parking on the streets of either Concord or Lexington, but I didn’t really listen. I thought I could sneak in on a back road and park whenever I pleased! NO WAY. I’ve never seen such parking enforcement in my life! If Salem really took its Halloween parking prohibitions seriously (which I do not really think it does), Concord and Lexington could offer a lesson or two. Anyway, I found parking so far outside Concord I basically followed the Acton Minutemen’s route into Concord on April 19, 1775, with the markers to prove it! And by the time I got to the North Bridge I was appropriately weary, and right on time for the big parade. The procession had everything and everyone: reenactors of different eras, marines, the Army Corps of Engineers, several fife and drum corps, the University of Massachusetts marching band, the Concord High School marching band, patriots on stilts, bagpipers, boy scouts, members of what seemed like every single Concord civic association, gardeners, “Concord Cousins” from Concords across America, and local militias from the surrounding towns. The crowd was HUGE on both sides of the bridge and the Charles River, and there were lots (but I didn’t think too many) of political signs as well, many in support of the National Park Service whose rangers were clearly working hard on this day.

On to Lexington where I had a friend’s driveway for parking but the closed roads made it difficult to get there! Again, poor planning on my part. Huge crowds here as well, lining up on Massachusetts Avenue for their big parade. Since I had already experienced one perfect parade, I decided to make my way to the Jacob Russell house in Arlington, which saw the bloodiest fighting of April 19, 1775 in which the one Salem participant, Benjamin Peirce, died. The house was open for tours and it was quite poignant to be inside, but for some weird reason all of my interior shots turned out dark and misty (maybe appropriately so). The desperate retreating British troops had war fever by this time of the day, and when Mrs. Russell returned home afterwards she found not only her husband dead but also eleven militiamen laid out in her kitchen, where the floor was “ankle deep” in blood.

A few scenes in Lexington and the Jason Russell house, with a bicentennial painting by Ruth Linnell Berry from the Arlington Historical Society. Mandy Warhol’s graphic images of Lexington (and Concord) Minutemen made perfect banners for the day and for this Patriots Day  (and longer, I hope).


Salem is a No-Show at Lexington and Concord

We are returning to the Revolution with the big Lexington & Concord 250th commemoration coming up next week! I find that I must revisit a question posed in a post several years ago: why didn’t Timothy Pickering and the Salem militiamen join the fight at Lexington or Concord or during the British retreat back to Boston? Pickering addressed this question many times during his life, and his failure to join the fray does not seem to have slowed him down: he went on to a distinguished career in service during the Revolution and after in a succession of appointed and elected Federal offices. His essential explanation? He thought it would all be over by the time he and his men marched to the front(s). I don’t think this is good enough, sorry, Colonel Pickering!

National Portrait Gallery

Here’s as objective a summary of the events of the day as I could muster: Pickering, who was most definitely the chief beneficiary of town offices previously held be exiled Salem Loyalists, was in his office at the Registry of Deeds when Captain Samuel Epes from Danvers came in with the news of the conflict at Lexington and Concord on the morning of the 19th. Pickering was the Colonel of the Essex County Militia: he ordered Epes to gather his men and march, and Epes did so, mustering EIGHT Danvers companies. The Danvers men played a key role in harassing the British retreat at Menotomy and suffered significant casualties (7 men; more than any other town with the exception of Lexington) in the process, including Salem’s lone participant in the events of the day, Benjamin Peirce. Just to the north of Salem, militia men from four Beverly companies were on the road to Lexington fairly quickly that morning, also engaging the British at Menotomy (now Arlington). Pickering did not summon his soldiers immediately; rather he called for a meeting of Salem’s leading gentlemen in Webb’s tavern—and this would not be his only tavern stop of the day—to deliberate. His accounts of these deliberations are consistent: he did not think the Salem men could get to the action in time so was predisposed to remain on the North Shore. His was a minority view, however, as most of the Salem gentlemen believed that the Town had to demonstrate its willingness to fight. The Derby brothers, Elias and Richard, were particularly vehement on this point. So Pickering reluctantly marched, but not for long! Just past the Bell Tavern in Danvers, he halted for refreshments and recommended that the militia remain there until news of a British withdrawal came. His men were anxious, and so he relented, and they marched to Lynn, where they stopped at Newhall’s Tavern for more “refreshment.” Back on the road, there was a more determined march from Lynn to Medford, where they learned that the British were still in the process of retreating, and close by. On Winter Hill, Pickering actually saw “the (reinforced) British force marching from Cambridge to Charlestown…..and the smoke of musketry” and prepared to engage, but received orders from from Brigadier General William Heath not to, an important detail which Heath later disputed. And so the Salem men guarded a Medford bridge on April 19, and that was that.

Pickering’s tavern stops on April 19, 1775: Fireboard view of Court House Square by George Washington Felt at the Peabody Essex Museum; the Bell Tavern on the far left in “Eagle Corner and Washington Street” by Charles Dole, 1828 and a print from the collection of the Peabody Historical Society; the Newhall Tavern in a photograph and sketch from the collection of the Lynn Museum & Arts Center—thanks to Christopher Locke for sourcing these for me!

There was quite a bit of comment about Pickering’s “tardiness” and “timidity” from his contemporaries, and historians followed suit. The best indication of the former is the “Memorial” that the Town of Salem sent to the General Court of Massachusetts in August, which is included in the biography of Pickering by his youngest son, Octavius. This is such an incredible document that I’m going to include quite a bit of it, as Octavius Pickering did. He thought it was “vindication” for his father; I do not.

  • “The town of Salem humbly showeth, that, many calumnies and misrepresentations having been made and industriously propagated concerning the conduct of the town upon and since the 19th of April last, in consequence of which its character has been greatly injured and some of its inhabitants insulted and abused, the town thinks it a point of duty to take effectual steps to vindicate its innocence, and procure a redress of those grievances, which are too many and too heavy any longer silently to be endured, and therefore beg leave to give the following detail of facts : —
  • “On the 19th of April, very soon after authentic intelligence arrived of the barbarous deeds of the King’s troops at Lexington, the inhabitants mustered in arms, and near three hundred marched off, and directed their course according to the intelligence they were continually receiving on the road of the situation of the troops ; but, though they marched with as much despatch as was possible, consistent with their being fit for action after so long a march as they must necessarily make, yet they arrived in sight of the troops not till the last of them were marching up Bunker’s Hill. Why the inhabitants of Salem should be so highly censured for their conduct on this occasion, the town cannot conceive. Thousands of men, nearer, much nearer, the scene of action, either stayed at home or arrived no sooner than the Salem militia. From Milton and its environs, in particular, the militia got as far as Cambridge only, at the same time that the Salem militia arrived at Charlestown; yet, by a strange and unaccountable partiality, the inhabitants of Salem only are reproached; and the multitudes near at hand, who never stirred an inch, or, though they lived but at half the distance, arrived as late as the Salem militia, are entirely excused. In short, it is most absurdly declared by many, that, if the Salem militia had not been negligent and pusillanimous, the King’s troops must have been entirely cut off; that is, fewer than three hundred men could have done infinitely more in one or two hours, than the whole body of militia assembled had been able to perform that day.” [The Memorial then addresses another charge upon Salem: that British ships were being provisioned by the town!!! Must look into this!]
  • “This, may it please the Honorable Court is a brief, thorough faithful, narrative of facts; hence it may be judged how injuriously the town of Salem has been treated. The town cannot forbear to express its astonishment. What could occasion the reproach so liberally thrown upon us? What motives could be imagined sufficient to tempt us to neglect the duty we owe to ourselves, our posterity, and our country ? What proofs have we given of our insensibility, that we should neither dread the curses of slavery, nor feel the blessings of liberty? What could we have done more than we have done, to secure the latter to ourselves and all our dearest connections ? When the balance of public affairs was most doubtful, — when neither money nor the means of payment were provided, and the sentiments of the Continent were unknown, — then Salem furnished every needful supply in its power, as soon as the army’s wants were known ; how readily, and to how great amount, the Committee of Supplies and the Treasurer can inform. We have continued these supplies, and the town is drained. What more remains for us to do?”

The Seat of War in New England, by an American Volunteer, 1775; Washington Presidential Library at Mount Vernon via ARGO: American Revolutionary Geographies Online [this is a great site–check it out!]

Timothy Pickering was the town’s secretary (one of many positions he held in Salem) so made a “true copy” of the memorandum after the town meeting; I don’t know if it was his initiative. But the tone of this composition is very defensive. Salem was a major Massachusetts town which had recently been the colonial capital and official port of entry; it was expected to lead and it had not lead; it’s not just about Pickering. As for the man himself, I think his actions demonstrate how difficult the position many Patriots were in and just how HUGE the conflict at Lexington, Concord, and Arlington was. Pickering was still, despite the all the antagonistic actions of General Gage in Salem the year before, a British citizen yearning for the rights enjoyed by his fellow Britons across the Atlantic. But Lexington & Concord and then Bunker Hill, altered that stance, that identity, irrevocably. I think some of his logistical concerns were valid at first, but I can’t explain all those tavern stops! There was another issue: there were British ships off Salem and Marblehead, raising defensive concerns, which (I think) kept the Marblehead men from marching. I don’t like to judge people in the past, but I do like to lay out as many of the conditions they faced as possible. When I look at Timothy Pickering in as much context as I can conjure up, he looks like someone who could easily have been a Loyalist, but he was not. He was quite the opposite: a leader of the revolutionary resistance in his town and region. But he was also just a man, responding to events as they occurred on one Spring day.

Appendix #1 Without a military presence at Lexington and Concord, I think the most important contribution of Salem to this epic event was likely printer-publisher Ezekiel Russell’s broadside Bloody Butchery by the British Troops, or, The Runaway Fight of the Regulars. Being the Particulars of the Victorious Battle fought at and near Concord … between Two Thousand Regular Troops, belonging to His Britannick Majesty, and a few Hundred Provincial Troops, a major propaganda coup. The Phillips Library of the Peabody Essex Museum will be presenting an exhibition on Russell for the Salem’s quadricentennial next year, which is great news!

Appendix #2 I am giving my first Revolutionary talk next week for Historic New England’s Phillips House: excited and a little nervous! Pickering will be referenced, but not in relation to Lexington and Concord: he is very representative of an increasing Whig resistance to the royal government that created a deep division in Salem in the decade before the Revolution, what I am calling a “pre-revolutionary revolution.” On the 29th, my colleague Tad Baker will be giving a talk on some of the Salem Witch Trial references which surfaced in Revolutionary rhetoric—a very interesting topic! You can find more information and register here: https://www.historicnewengland.org/visit/events/.


Leslie’s Retreat 250

More local Revolutionary history! I know I have not been straying far from this focus lately, but this past weekend (well, really February 26) marked the 250th anniversary of Leslie’s Retreat here in Salem with several colorful events which definitely deserve a post. And fair warning, there will be more 1775 over the next few months: I’m giving a talk on Salem’s “pre-Revolutionary Revolution” for Historic New England in April and then there will be the big commemoration of Bunker Hill and then……….we’ll see. I promise to sneak some other topics in here, but for Massachusetts in the American Revolution, it’s really all about 1775, so there’s a lot going on. Saturday’s commemoration kicked off with a presentation at St. Peter’s Church which echoed the sequence of events in 1775 when the Sabbath was disturbed by the arrival of British soldiers in Salem in search of contraband cannon. I arrived a bit late for this event, as it was advertised as featuring “stakeholders” and I knew that meant politicians: that is the term that our previous mayor and present Lieutenant Governor, Kim Driscoll, used all the time during her tenure to distinguish VIPs from mere residents. It’s still used all the time in Salem, and I always bristle when I hear it, so my little rebellion was to stomp over to St. Peter’s late. By the time I arrived, there was a full church listening intently to the last of the stakeholders, our present Mayor Dominick Pangallo. Then we heard from Lt. Colonel Leslie himself, sang a hymn and listened to a timely sermon, and watched as the news of the marching soldiers (some of whom were apparently right next door) interrupted the everyday life a few colonial Salemites. And then we were off to the North Bridge!

The “congregation” walked over to the site, now pretty unrecognizable or unimaginable if you know the historic terrain, where the parley which brought about, and constituted, Leslie’s Retreat, happened nearly 250 years ago. The major difference between this special commemoration and those of previous years was the presence of many more reenacting regiments, so the crowd and the soldiers were separated on two lanes of the bridge, with traffic blocked off (which was quite something, as route 114 is a major artery). In past years civilians and soldiers were mixed in together, and there was less of each. I couldn’t really see or hear the negotiations between Lt. Col. Leslie and the Salem men, but everything that transpired seemed to happen much quicker than was the case in 1775. Leslie retreated very quickly, followed by a few regiments of Colonials which had formed on the other side of the river. All I could really capture was the marching, to and from. A lot of players—I’m sure this took a lot of coordination. After witnessing this, I cannot imagine the complexities of the “curation” of the Battle of Bunker Hill in June.

There were trolley tours and a great exhibit at the Salem Armory Visitor’s Center, but I was focused on a fashionable event in the afternoon: “Fashion in the Season of Revolution: a Panel Discussion and Reenactor Promenade” at the Peabody Essex Museum. This was so interesting: I’m still kind of thinking about it. There were scholarly talks about Abigail Adams’ quilted petticoat and Eldridge Gerry’s sister’s wedding ensemble and the revolutionary preference for homespun as it related to shoes, and then there were questions for an ensemble of reenactors in the audience and on stage. Their answers were really thoughtful and fascinating, including those of a 14-year-old girl who had come up to Salem with her regiment for the day (I’m only 14 so I can’t carry a musket but I have a bugle. Who knew that musiciansuniforms had variant stripes?) I have to tell you that most academic historians have a bit of a snobby attitude towards reenectors: I would include myself in this company until the last few years. It’s the dominance of archival research in our profession, and an assumed exclusive association with military history, I think. Speaking for myself, I had always associated reenacting and “pageantry” with the Victorian romanticization of the pre-modern past, something I’ve always had to counter throughout my teaching career. But my perspective on this has changed over the years, especially as I’ve met local history enthusiasts in this region. I still really can’t handle a Renaissance Fair, but it’s clear to me that for many reenactors, who engage in the pursuit for decades, both their “kit” and their engagement in commemoration are ways to study and venerate the past at the same time. I clearly am craving a material connection to the past as well, as all I really want to do on most days is drive around and look at seventeenth-century houses: and I envy their comaraderie!

After all that, it was off to the Revolution Ball next door at Hamilton Hall. It took me a while to get dressed, as I had my own little reenactor “Caraco” jacket which laces up the front and a really nice dark red silk “petticoat” (skirt) which also took me a while to figure out. The ball was really magical: the Hall looked gorgeous, I hope you can get some sense of it in the photographs below. It was period dress/black tie, and it seemed liked it was about half and half. Dancing with a caller, cocktails, I even ate, which I never do at parties for some reason. There were quite a few people there that had participated in the events of the day, and who were part of other commemoration activities, so there quite a bit of festive camaraderie, so much so that I can justify using that word twice in one post.

N.B. Saturday was a fun celebration, but I woke up on Sunday to a flag hanging upside down at Yosemite National Park (where a former student works, still, I think), a distress signal from its rangers/stewards. So I have to add my hope that the revolutionary commemorations of 2025, 2026, and beyond can communicate to the American public the extreme sacrifices that the Revolutionary generation made for real freedom, not just lower consumer prices. Moreover, this long commemoration is itself threatened by this administration’s attack on federal employees in general and those of the National Park Service in particular: Salem Maritime National Historic Site historian Emily Murphy curated and presented the exhibit on Leslie’s Retreat which will be on view all spring, and obviously Minute Man National Historic Park will be center stage for the commemorations of Lexington and Concord in April. A comprehensive list of the Revolution 250 inititatives and events planned by Massachusetts National Historic sites and parks is here: please support their efforts and their personnel.


Leslie’s Retreat: How an Incident became an Event

Next weekend here in Salem a whirlwind of events will commemorate the 250th anniversary of Leslie’s Retreat, including reenactments of the Redcoats’ march towards the North Bridge and the negotiations/resistance that followed, a variety of tours, an exhibit, a concert, a play at Old Town Hall, a presentation on revolutionary and reenactment clothing at the Peabody Essex Museum, and a ball at Hamilton Hall! A group of stalwart history enthusiasts and educators organized a Retreat reenactment nearly a decade ago and the event has been growing in popularity every since, but this year is BIG because of the 250th anniversary, and the city has jumped on the bandwagon. I’m grateful to those “First Reenactors” as February 26th (or thereabouts) has become a conspicuous non-witchy event on the Salem calendar, so I feel like commemorating them, but their efforts are part of a long tradition: Salem has long celebrated its brief, shining moment of Revolutionary resistance. I’ve posted quite about what the event called “Leslie’s Retreat” was so this year I thought I’d write in response to a slightly different prompt: how did this “incident at the North Bridge in Salem” became the event we call “Leslie’s Retreat?” I’m also interested in how it became known as “the first armed resistance to British troops” when it clearly wasn’t, but I suspect the answer to that question is because they just kept saying it was so I don’t want to waste too much time on that.

Wonderful etching of Salem’s North Bridge in the 1880s by George Merwanjee White, Phillips Library (the shores looks so close!); various mid-century pictorial maps with the “first” claim.

So before I go into all the factors which made Leslie’s Retreat LESLIE’S RETREAT, here’s a very brief summary of what happened on February 26, 1775. VERY BRIEF. You can search for my other Leslie’s Retreat posts or, if you want all the details and the most probing analysis, go to J.L. Bell’s amazing blog Boston 1775which imho and that of many others is the absolutely best source for pre-revolutionary Boston and its environs. Bell is giving a talk for the Marblehead Museum on February 27 which I am very much looking forward to as I have managed to miss all his other presentations on Leslie’s Retreat. Until I am enlightened further by him, here is my summary:

“Leslie’s Retreat” represents the unsuccessful attempt of the 64th Regiment of Foot under the command of Lieutenant Colonel Alexander Leslie to commandeer cannon in Salem. Said cannon were likely 17 twelve-pounders secured by Colonel David Mason, who had commissioned blacksmith Robert Forster to mount them to carriages. Royal Governor Thomas Gage, who had essentially been kicked out of Salem the previous August as the town was serving as the provincial capital (but who clearly still had his contacts) caught wind of this clandestine cannon and ordered Lt. Col. Leslie and his troops to sail from Fort William in Boston Harbor to Marblehead, and from there march to Salem and “take possession of the rebel cannon in the name of His Majesty.” The operation was planned for a sleepy Sabbath Sunday, but as soon as the Regulars landed in Marblehead word got out, and the alarm was sounded not only in Salem but in other Essex County towns. Leslie marched to what was then called the North Field Bridge, which was a drawbridge firmly fixed in the up position which prevented him from crossing the North River to Forster’s forge and foundry. A crowd formed and negotiations began between a frustrated Leslie, several Salem residents and militiamen, and a local pastor, Thomas Barnard. With darkness (and militiamen throughout Essex County) advancing, a compromise was reached: the bridge was lowered and Leslie and his men were able to cross and inspect, but the cannon were long gone. So they retreated back to Marblehead and Boston. 

[Interuption/disruption: in longer narratives of Leslie’s Retreat, a woman named Sarah Tarrant is generally referenced, as she taunted Leslie and his soldiers from her open window. That’s fine, I’m sure Sarah was very brave, but Colonel Mason’s wife Hannah and her two daughters made 5000 FLANNEL CARTRIDGES for the cannon in the preceding month. So I think Hannah Symmes Mason and her daughters Hannah and Susan deserve some glory too.]

John Muller’s authoritative Treatise on Artillery, which Mason no doubt possessed, contains detailed instructions for making cannon cartridges as well as all types of carriages. 

So here are the major factors and forces which transformed Leslie’s Retreat from mere incident to major event: it was a chronological process, of course!

1820s Patriotism. Here in the Boston area, there was clearly some intensifying patriotism focused on the Revolution in the 1820s, the result of a combination of forces, including the upcoming fiftieth aniversary, the visit of General Lafayette, and above all, the movement to commemorate the Battle of Bunker Hill. I was not surprised to see the first public reference to “Col. Leslie’s Retreat” in this decade, though I bet it was a term in use before then. It seems that the loyal citizens of North Salem took matters into their own hands in 1823, and I really would like to see this elaborate staff with an eagle and a bust of George Washington. The Bunker Hill Monument Association was established that same summer, and Lafayette laid the cornerstone for the monument in 1825. It was not completed until 1843, but at the Whig Bunker Hill Convention of 1840, a grand historical parade around the monument-in-progress featured 1200 marchers from Salem bearing a Leslie’s Retreat banner asserting we were the first to defeat our oppression in 1775—we shall be the last to yield to them in 1840.

The Essex Institute. Founded in 1848 and serving as Salem’s de facto historical society until its assimilation into the Peabody Essex Museum in 1992, the Essex Institute commissioned TWO items which are essential to the history, interpretation, and identification of Leslie’s Retreat, Samuel Morse Endicott’s Account of Leslie’s Retreat at the North Bridge in Salem on Sunday Feby’y 26, 1775 (1856) and Lewis Jesse Bridgman’s watercolor of Repulse of Leslie at the  North Bridge (1901). Endicott’s Account became an instant classic and as it was issued in a very nice edition after its first publication in the Collections of the Essex Institute it became even more valuable with age: a brief survey of book auction catalogs from the early twentieth century indicates it was in every gentleman’s library. And as I have written here many times before: it’s difficult to “imprint” anything or anybody in people’s minds without an image, so the Bridgman painting has been equally valuable. It was reproduced everywhere, including as a hugh wall mural donated to Salem High School by the Daughters of the American Revolution, North Bridge Branch, in 1910.

The Civil War. There are numerous “memory” connections between the Revolution and the Civil War, but I think the most important one in Salem’s history is Governor Andrew’s identification of the North Bridge as one of the key places in Massachusetts to fire off a salute in celebration of the ratification of the thirteenth amendment. The bridge had received a new “Liberty Pole” in 1862, so its identification with liberty was pretty established by that time. There’s no question that the North Bridge was a much more hallowed place than it is now: overpasses just don’t conjure up heritage like bridges.

The Big Anniversaries. The years 1875-1876 were similiar to 1975-1976 and 2025-2026, with the convergence of the 100th, 200th and 250th anniversaries of Leslie’s Retreat and the beginning of the American Revolution. “Triumphal arches” were erected on the North Bridge in 1876 and again in 1926, for Salem’s Tercentenary. There were just so many occasions to mark and remember Leslie’s Retreat, and when there wasn’t an occasion, one was made up! The Leslie’s Retreat monument, now under the bridge rather than on it, was erected in 1887, and a quarter of a century later the “Pageant of Salem” dramatized the narrative (as if it wasn’t dramatic enough). I must say, the 1975 reenactment looks like it was really fun.

The 1926 Salem Tercentenary Leslie’s Retreat Float was sponsored by the DAR, North River Branch. Salem State University Archives and Special Collections; Col. Leslie by Racket Shreve in Salem’s wonderful Bicentennial Illustrated Guide Book.

These big anniversaries were important, but they were only highlights in a long history of commemoration: from at least the 1850s, there was some kind of speech or moment recognizing Leslie’s Retreat every year, all through the 1860s, 1870s, 1880s, 1890s, 1900s, 1910s and 1920s. After that, it’s a bit more occasional, but you can still find references. The longest period where there are the fewest mentions in the press was from the Bicentennial to 2017, when the “First Reenactors” reengaged with the event and its impact. I wonder (not really) how Salem changed during these thirty years? We are certainly not in the period where, as one of the commenters on a previous post asserted, “every 8th grader in Salem had to write a paper on Leslie’s Retreat” for better or for worse. But thanks to those First Reenactors of 2017 (or 2016??? I can’t seem to remember) we are in a much better place for commemorating 1775 than we would be without their efforts, so hat’s off and huzzah to them!

Charlie Newhall, Jonathan Streff & Jeffrey Barz Snell and a BIG crowd in 2017.


Headline History

I went up to the Phillips Library in Rowley to look through some scrapbooks memorializing the Salem Tercentenary of 1926 late last week and found myself enchanted by the presentation and curation of one particular album put together by a certain Frank Reynolds. There were two big scrapbooks actually, and while I was expecting photographs (I guess that would be an album, rather than a scrapbook), there were only newspaper articles pasted in in a meticulous and chronological manner with attached white labels. At first I was disappointed, but then I went with it, and found the juxtaposition of the headlines really interesting. Then I came upon one particular article that really illustrated the concept of “headline history” and then I had my post.

Thus inspired, I divided my Tercentenary headlines into several categories:  1) The Big Row; 2) Getting Ready; 3) Advice to Tourists; 4) Dress Up; 5)) Crowds; 6) Presidential Address.

The Big Row was over the date of the founding of Salem, actually no, it was over what “founding” meant. Everyone knew that Roger Conant came down from Gloucester to Salem in 1626 with the “Old Planters” but William Crowninshield Endicott, Jr., the President of the Essex Institute, insisted that Conant and his colleagues were mere “fishermen and squatters” and Salem wasn’t really founded until his ancestor John Endecott arrived with the first royal charter in 1628. So Salem’s Tercentenary should be delayed for two years. The most eminent Salem historian of the time, Sidney Perley, made it clear that this was a ridiculous stance, and resigned in protest from his curatorial postition at the Essex Institute. Then Endicott resigned, and that was the situation in March of 1926, only a few months before the celebrations were to begin. I’m really not sure how it was resolved, but it took a lot of meetings and made a lot of headlines. Endicott went on to become President of the Massachusetts Historical Society, so maybe all the Boston Brahmins got together and offered him a bigger prize to back down.

Full speed ahead! We get some great headlines about getting ready. A lot of focus on cleaning Salem up. There was one big new project—a pineapple-topped bandstand on Salem Common—but much more of an emphasis on restoring and scrubbing (reports on parades later on often noted how clean Salem’s streets were). Hamilton Hall was stripped of its paint; the massive train depot was sandblasted.

There were some interesting marketing campaigns associated with the Tercententary. Every Salem store seems to have dressed up its windows with historical scenes; Parker Brothers reissued its first board game, The Mansion of Happiness. There seems to have been an outreach to Quebec, because of Salem’s large Franco-American population, but also to other areas of the country, and I think that might explain these odd witch headlines. The Salem Tourist Camp at Forest River Park seems extraordinary to me: this very same space hosted a refugee camp after the Great Salem Fire just twelve years earlier (and no, the Fire was not “kind to the city.”)

So many “antiques”! The word is used very broadly: houses, dresses, furnishings, all on display. There was a great opening of houses throughout Salem, and also a great opening of attics. While the parades presented a broad overview of Salem’s centuries, the open houses and performances were very focused on the Colonial: and its revival.

The entire July week was jam-packed: THREE parades, a big bonfire on the fourth in the Salem tradition, fireworks in the Willows along with a triple parachute jump from a hot air balloon and then an attempted quadruple jump two days later by Louise Gardner (who would fall to her death before an Atlanta crowd of 15,000 two years later), athletic competitions, lectures, a ball, all sorts of exhibitions. The Massachusetts papers covered everything in detail, as did some national papers, and there were a lot of headlines about crowds. For the Historical and Floral parade at the end of the week, the participants were estimated at 10,000 and the crowds at nearly 100,000.

By all accounts the Salem Tercentenary was a resounding success, but clearly there was a need for a presidential nod to cap it off. I had always thought that Calvin Coolidge was dissing Salem by not attending the big event as he always summered nearby, but apparently this year he was in another part of the country. So he sent Vice-President Charles Dawes, who interrupted his annual fishing trip to Maine. The Vice-President reviewed the first tercentenary parade, and gave a speech on how the radio could safeguard the constitution from rampant populism. But even that sounds better than President Coolidge’s note, below. So enthusiastic: “even if Salem ships no longer circle the world and the life of the community goes on in less picturesque and spectacular channels” Salem still has its history! You’d think Silent Cal would have congratulated the city on putting on such a big party, but no. The President does make the point that anniversary of the Declaration of Independence was being celebrated in the Salem year as Salem’s 300th and this year we have another concurrence with the 250th anniversary of the beginning of the American Revolution. From what I’ve seen so far, I think Revolution 250 is going to leave Salem 400+ in the dust, but we shall see.

Tercentenary font? Quincy is up this year: you can check out their schedule here.


Joseph Hodges Choate and the New York City Draft Riots

Salem is kind of an odd statue city, in my opinion. Some statues get placed by small constituencies, while others are erected in inappropriate locales. Salem’s most recent statue, of educator and abolitionist Charlotte Forten, is an unfortunate example of the latter. Charlotte certainly deserves a statue and I think her representation is lovely, but placing a diminuative bronze in the concrete “park” that is named for her but yet has nothing to do with her, in a space that has been compromised by giant tacky pirate illustrations and a turquoise wooden bar, emphasizes her fragility rather than her strength. She looks incongruous there and I don’t like to visit her: there’s no context. Poor Roger Conant, the founder of Salem, has a very strong presence which is unfortunately diminished by his location adjoining the Witch Museum—everyone who comes to Salem thinks he is a witch even though, of course, there were no witches. I think Nathaniel Hawthorne is well-served by his location on Hawthorne Boulevard, but a bit further to the south is Fr. Theobold Mathew, the Irish temperence “apostle” who visited Salem in 1849. No one knows who he is or cares about him at all; indeed, if there was more knowledge of Mathew I am sure his statue would be removed as he reneged on his original abolitionist stance when he came to America—Charles Lenox Remond, who met Mathew in Ireland and collected his signature on his “Irish Address” to Irish Americans denouncing slavery, must be rolling in his grave! I’m not commenting on Samantha; I think everyone who reads this blog knows how I feel about that atrocity. So that brings me to the memorial statue for Joseph Hodges Choate on Essex Street: an “entrance” statue which Salem needs more of I think, but also rather mysterious. The statue has been moved once before, not too far from its original location, but another plan to move it to a far less conspicuous place a few years ago brought forth a curious opposition, as it was clear that no one really knew who Choate was.

I didn’t really know much about Choate either, to be honest, but I started gathered the basics of his biography after visiting his summer house in the Berkshires, Naumkeag, a decade ago. I added a few details over the years—he was impressive and interesting to me because he seemed like a self-made man, not the usual “son of a prosperous Salem shipowner” type. His father was a busy Salem physician who managed to send four of his sons to Harvard, including Joseph, so I guess he wasn’t that self-made: Harvard was certainly a good start. He decided to practice law in New York City and was almost immediately attached to a well-known firm. As a litigator, he had a knack, or perhaps his mentors advised him, to take up cases that had national consequences or drew national attention: relating to the income tax and Chinese exclusion, reversing a famous Civil War court-martial. He was a very civic-minded New Englander in New York, and part of a group of influential reformers who took on Boss Tweed. He was also very much of a public intellectual, giving lots of speeches and writing popular periodical pieces. With his wife Carrie, he was active in New York’s social scene, and was one of the founders of both the Metropolitan Museum of Art and the Museum of Natural History. The capstone to his long successful career was his appointment as Ambassador to Great Britain in 1899, a position he occupied until 1905.

Vanity Fair “Spy” caricature of Joseph Hodges Choate, 1899.

Late last year, I came across Choate’s  “fragmentary” biography, The life of Joseph Hodges Choate: as gathered chiefly from his letters, and read it over Christmas. Several of his letters leaped off the page, so I want to go back to Choate’s early days in New York City, when he experienced, recorded, and played a role in one of our nation’s worst insurrections: the Draft Riots of July 1863. Following the passage of the Enrollment Act of 1863 and the first draft lottery in July, thousands of working class New Yorkers, primarily Irish immigrants, began rioting, looting and lynching in protest of the perceived inequalities of the draft, from which people of means could escape by purchasing the services of a substitute for $300 and disenfranchised African Americans were exempt. Given the near concurrence of Gettysburg and some severely compromised leadership, the City seemed powerless to stop the mob, so the riots became increasingly violent and specifically targeted against active abolitonists and African Americans for four bloody days in mid-July until the New York militia and Federal troops arrived. The estimated death toll is all over the place, anywhere from more than a hundred to more than a thousand; the destruction seemed inestimable but was ultimately estimated at between $1.5 million and five million (in 1863 dollars) and the horrors still seem horrible: at the very least, eleven black men were “murdered with horrible brutality” and NYC police superintendendant John Alexander Kennedy, an Irish-American himself, was beaten to a bloody pulp and stabbed 70 times by the mob. The Colored Orphans Asylum was burned to the ground.

The girls’ playground at the Colored Orphans Asylum before the riots; Illustrated London News depiction of its burning.

Choate’s descriptions of the Riots in a succession of letters to his mother back in Salem are raw; he’s clearly struggling with the cruelty and violence he is seeing. These observations will be consequential, as we will see, and this experience shaped his outlook and politics for the rest of his life. He happened to live near a rather famous abolitionist family with whom he had become friends, Abigail Hopper Gibbons and her husband James, both Quakers and seemingly tireless advocates for abolition and other social reforms. Choate observed that “nothing could be more simple and almost idyllic than the life that these Quakers let, and the house of Mrs. Gibbons was a great resort of abolitionists and extreme antislavery people from all parts of the land, as it was one of the stations of the underground railroad by which fugitive slaves found their way from the South to Canada. I have dined with that family in company with William Lloyd Garrison, and sitting at the table with us was a jet-black negro who was on his way to freedlom. On the second day of the riots, when both Mr. and Mrs. Gibbons were in other parts of the city, a mob descended on their house at 339 West 29th Street, with only their two teenaged daughters at home. A neighbor tried to help defend the house but was cut down by the crowd, while the girls escaped next door where Choate found them soon after. He continues: They threw themselves into my arms, almost swooning. I immediately got a carriage, and got them over a dozen adjoining roofs, and in a few minutes we were all safely at our door. Their house is not very much injured, but all the sacred associations of a home of 25 years are gone. Yes, they had to flee over the attached roofs of the townhouses of West 29th Street, now the Lamartine Place Historic District of New York City.

A contemporary view of the attack on “Mrs. Gibbon’s’House”; Lamartine Place, getting crowded out but still intact in the 1920s; the Gibbons house is in the middle. New York Public Library Digital Gallery.

Choate elaborates quite a bit in his letters home about the atrocities of those hot July days, referencing uncontrollable and unprecedented (since the French Revolution in his view) violence and the complicity of state and local officials. In a scenario which seems very reminiscent of President Trump’s embrace of the Charlottesville torchbearers, New York Governor Horatio Seymour addressed the rioters as his “friends,” horrifying Choate. It’s personal rather than political: the entire Gibbons family was sheltered in his home, along with several African American refugees, for no negro was safe out of doors. Choate’s accounts of his experiences had a long-ranging impact, even reaching our own time. A 13-year battle between a man who purchased the Hopper Gibbons House and sought (and actually started) to build a fifth story concluded in 2017 with an order to cease, desist, and restore the house to its original four stories. Preservationists relied heavily on the Choate accounts, which documented the house as a stop on the Underground Railroad and emphasized the historical (not just aesthetic) importance of the roofline which enabled the Gibbons girls’ escape. So now when I look at the embodiment of liberty enshrined on the Choate statue right here in Salem, I think of someone who was a lot more than a gifted litigator and influential diplomat. Joseph Hodges Choate responded bravely and earnestly to the challenges of his own time, and kept a record so that we might remember, learn, and preserve in ours.

The Hopper Gibbons House under siege; the stucco had come before, but the fifth floor has now been removed.


2025: the Anniversary Year

I like to look ahead to the coming historical anniversaries at the beginning of every year, and in 2025 it’s pretty clear that two wars are going to dominate the commemoration calendar: the beginning of the American Revolution and the end of World War II. The Fall of Saigon occurred in 1975, so you could add a third. Here in Massachusetts, we’ve been gearing up for revolutionary remembrance for quite some time, under the aegis of a coalition called Revolution 250. Even the City of Salem, pretty passive when it comes to matters of heritage and seemingly oblivious to our City’s key pre-revolutionary and revolutionary roles, is getting in on the action by jumping on board the 250th anniversary of “Leslie’s Retreat” in late February. A Revolution Ball at Hamilton Hall—the successor to the pre-Covid Resistance Ball— will also be held in the midst of a very busy commemorative weekend in Salem. The commemorations of the battles of Lexington and Concord in April and Bunker Hill in June promise to be huge, even though the latter will be “fought” in Gloucester rather than Charlestown. Then the focus will shift to Cambridge, where Washington formed the Continental Army: I don’t think it was quite as orderly a process as the Currier & Ives lithograph below presents!

Revolutionary remembrance in Salem and Massachusetts: a view of “Leslie’s Retreat,” when a Salem crowd and dialogue convinced British Lt. Colonel Alexander Leslie and his soldiers to retreat while cannon were carried away, 1955 Emma Crafts Earley Map Salem Massachusettes With History, Phillips Library. This event is widely heralded in Salem as the “first armed resistance by the Colonies to British Authority,” which is just not true, but I think I can accept “the first armed resistance to British in 1775.” The Revolution Ball will be held on February 22: more information here. The Battle of Lexington, Bettman Archive; “An Exact View of the Late Battle at Charlestown, June 17, 1775.” and “Washington Taking Command of the American Army,” Metropolitan Museum of Art. 

While most of the Revolutionary commemoration will likely be exuberant, remembering the end of World War II will be much more nuanced, marking victory and liberation but also loss and destruction. The 80th anniversary of VE Day (May 8) could be “a shared moment of celebration” but obviously Holocaust remembrance will be more solemn, as will the anniversaries of the atomic bombing of Hiroshima and Nagasaki. I probably shouldn’t even reference these atrocities in a post on history anniversaries as their remembrance is quite appropriately ongoing and perpetual, but the eighty-year mark is noted everywhere. A major exhibition, Portraits of the Hibakusha | 80 Years Remembered, featuring a series of 52 lenticular portraits of the survivors of the atomic bombing of Hiroshima and Nagasaki, has already opened and will travel to museums and galleries around the world. Eighty years ago this very month (on January 27), Auschwitz was liberated by soldiers of the 60th Army of the First Ukrainian Front of the Red Army: here is more information about the observances scheduled for this site on this particular International Holocaust Remembrance Day, from which Russia has been excluded for the third straight year.

It seems to me that in terms of public remembrance, we tend to remember bad things more than good, ostensibly because we do not want to repeat the bad. Ultimately (I think!) war remembrance is a hopeful process rather than a macabre one, but it is wearing and wearying. I teach a European history survey pretty much every semester and I always get wary when we approach the twentieth century, but there were two very consequential conflicts from my own period that will also be commemorated in 2025: King Philip’s War (1675-76) and the German Peasants War of 1525, both bloody conflicts between desperate insurgents and established regimes—well, perhaps the colonists of southern New England were not that established when an indigenous coalition under the leadership of Wampanoag chief Metacom, later known as King Philip, attacked English settlements over a 14-month period. Several Salem men, including Nathaniel Hawthorne’s first American ancestor William Hathorne, fought in this conflict, which left hundreds of colonists and thousands of Native Americans dead. Northeastern University Emeritus Professor of Public History Martin Blatt has called for more commemoration of King Philip’s War, but I don’t see any big event on the 2025 calendar. There is, however, some amazing scholarship on the War and its remembrance in New England over the centuries. The German Peasants’ War was the biggest uprising in Western Europe before the French Revolution, extending to much of the Holy Roman Empire. It was notable for being not just a large peasant revolt but one in which an expansive “working class” (a term we don’t usually use before the Industrial Revolution), including miners and urban workers, rose up against serfdom and its remnants, brandishing a document callled The Twelve Articles which justified their demands in scripture. It’s the first sign of the potentially radical impact of the Reformation, and Martin Luther was so horrified by the rebels’ confusion of spiritual and secular “freedom” that he called for the “murderous theiving hordes of peasants” to be cut down. And so they were.

Because of its early expression of “class consciousness,” East Germany commemorated the 45oth anniversary of the Peasants War in 1975 with this stamp and other events. For the 500th anniversary in 2025, the Thuringian state has organized a traveling exhibition.

Lightening up quite a bit. Jane Austen was born in that consequential year of 1775, and given her popularity over these past few decades, I have no doubt that the 250th anniversary of her birth will be commemorated in a big way in Britian—and no doubt elsewhere. Just a few clicks and I realized that the events that constitute Jane Austen 250 make the very busy Revolution 250 calendar look quiet! In Bath, and Winchester, and throughout Hampshire there will be festivals and costume balls and dress-up days and parades. At Jane Austen’s House in Chawton, each book will get its own festival starting with Pride and Prejudice this very month and there will be a special year-long exhibition called Austenmania. Bath has been on the Austen bandwagon for quite some time so there’s a lot going on there but in Winchester, the city where Jane spent her last years and was laid to rest, there’s a bit of a controversy about a new statue to be installed on the Cathedral grounds. There are concerns about overtourism in general and the sanctity of its proposed location in particular, with one critic opining that “I don’t think we want to turn it into Disneyland-on-Itchen. I don’t think the Inner Close is the place to attract a lot of lovely American tourists to come and have a selfie with Jane Austen.” (sounds vaguely familiar) They’ve spent quite a bit of money on the statue, so I think it’s a go, but Winchester is clearly the only place in the region where there are any clouds on the horizon: everywhere and everyone else seems geared up for an enthusiastic Austen year.


They Came Back for the Cannon

This has been such a “revolutionary” year for me; I had to cap it off by an actual event: the reenactment of the raids on Fort William and Mary in New Castle, New Hampshire on December 14 and 15, 1774 this past weekend. There were two raids on this under-manned fort: first they came for the gunpowder, then for the cannon. From September of 1774 New England had been in a constant state of alarm: these December actions were the first overt revolutionary actions: if the Fort had actually been manned, I do believe the American Revolution would have begun in December of 1774 rather than April of 1775. “What if” history is generally pointless, but still, this particular episode has everything: a mid-day ride by Paul Revere warning the people of Portsmouth of the imminent arrival of warships, two raids on successive days, removing the “peoples’s” gunpowder and cannon from the “king’s” fort, a trampled British flag.

I was early for the December 15 reenactment, so I walked around a nearly people-less New Castle with bells ringing on Sunday morning: despite the calm, it was kind of exciting!

You can read that I am using the language from the official marker: “overt”. It was overt! It was open treason after Revere arrived in Portsmouth in the late afternoon of December 13. One of the town’s wealthiest and most influential residents, John Langdon (Continental Congress member and later President pro tempore of the US Senate and Governor of New Hampshire), recruited Patriot raiders on the streets with fife and drum, and eventually a force of nearly 400 militiamen assaulted the Fort on the next day. Inside were a mere five men under the command of Captain John Cochran, who gave this account to the Royal Governor John Wentworth:  About three o’ clock the Fort was besieged on all sides by upwards of four hundred men. I told them on their peril not to enter; they replied they would; I immediately ordered three four-pounders to be fired on them, and then the small arms, and before we could be ready to fire again, we were stormed on all quarters, and they immediately secured both me, and my men, and kept us prisoners about one hour and a half, during which time they broke open the Powder House, and took all the Powder away except one barrel, and having put it into boats and sent it off, they released me from my confinement. Despite the fire, there were no injuries, except for the Fort’s flag, which was pulled down and trampled upon. About 100 barrels of gunpowder were dispensed to nearby towns for safekeeping.

Howard Pyle’s illustration of the Surrender of Fort William and Mary, December 14, 1774, New York Public Library Digital Gallery.

And on the next day they came back for the cannon. Even more men, from both sides of the Piscataqua (the Maine side was then Massachusetts), under the command of Continental Congress member John Sullivan (another Continental Congress representative and future NH governor), raided the surrendered fort and carried away 16 cannon, 60 muskets and additional military stores. Sullivan had formerly been close friends with Governor Wentworth, but their relationship was severed by the latter’s Loyalism and lies to his countrymen, a point that was played up by the reenacting Sullivan in his speech to his troops and audience. I think they were planning to return to the pillaged port again but were preventing from doing so by the arrival of two British ships, the Canceaux and the Scarborough in the following week.

After a rousing speech by Sullivan (2024), off to the Fort!

Reenactors (and reenectment attendees) often endure extreme heat and cold waiting for reenactments to occur! It was a cold morning, but as you can see by this charming reenactor’s smile, also a pleasurable one. I was so whipped up by Sullivan’s (2024) speech that I felt that I had to visit Governor Wentworth’s nearby house, as if expecting to find him there to counter his former friend’s accusations. I will give him not the last word but a last word, as I think we need some more contemporary accounts: the letter from Portsmouth below was featured in all the American newspapers in the last week of December, and then Governor Wentworth’s proclamation followed in early January of 1775. The separation seems severe.

Essex Gazette, January 10, 1775.


Salem 1774: Tea, Fire and a new Congress

I just want to wrap up Salem’s long hot Revolutionary summer of 1774 with a finale first week of October and then I’ll be turning to Salem’s intense Halloween—I am not escaping this year because I’m working at the Phillips House and both my husband and I are so busy we can’t really handle the commute to Maine. So I’ll be going to various “attractions” and writing about them; it should be……….interesting. But today, a “tea party,” a “great fire,” and the convening of a brand new autonomous Provincial Assembly for Massachusetts, all right here in Salem in the first week of October 1774. After reading about the pre-Revolution all summer long I now subscribe completely to super-historian Mary Beth Norton’s assessment of the importance of 1774: here in Massachusetts, maybe even here in Salem, the Revolution began.

The Massachusetts Spy piece gives you a sense of what the late summer and early fall was like in Massachusetts: a ship arrived with 30 chests of tea, its purchaser confronted and cargo sent off to Halifax. Local and county meetings continue, as do congregations to prevent the royal courts to convene. Legal officials who are appointees of the Governor/King “recant and confess.” Boston is ever more fortified by Royal troops and Benjamin Franklin is America bound! You can feel it coming (but of course hindsight is 20/20). Salem remains the official port of entry (with Marblehead) and colonial capital, all the elected representatives to the General Court called by General Gage for October 5 received instructions from their communities throughout the month of September to resist royal encroachments on their liberty and call for a return to the William and Mary charter from nearly a century before. And then Gage called off the big assembly!

Boston Evening-Post, 3 October 1774.

Too much tumult! There would be no royally-convened General Court assembly at Salem on October 5: it was postponed by Governor Gage to some “distant day”.  Ultimately a more representative body will convene, but before everyone that Salem happening there were two fires in town: one very little, the other, “great.” The little one was a PUBLIC burning of tea conveyed to Salem in a cask which was loaded onto a wagon belonging to Benjamin Jackson in Boston. I find this whole story so interesting because several weeks before 30 chests of tea had arrived in Salem but people seem more upset by this little cask! An unfortunate and anonymous African-American man, “belonging to, or employed by Mrs. Sheaffe of Boston,” had requested the cask be conveyed to Salem, and it was, and he was identified as offering it for sale rather than his owner/employer: “it was taken from him and publicly burnt,” upon its arrival, “and the Fellow obliged immediately to leave town” on October 3. Some chroniclers have labeled this a “Salem Tea Party,” but I’ve read too much about tea resistance in Salem in the revolutionary Summer of 1774 so it seems like a minor affair to me.

Several days later, the long suffering Tory Justice of the Peace Peter Frye, whose statement is above, had his house and commercial buildings destroyed in the “Great Fire” of 1774, which devoured a block of buildings in central Salem. Frye had tried to find his way back to “friendship” with his Salem neighbors, but they had never been able to forget his commercial and judicial dealings contrary to Patriot proclamations. He would leave Salem for Ipswich shortly after the fire, and cross over to Britain in the next year. Salem had a bit of a reputation as a Tory town before 1774, but it had certainly lost that identity by this time.

While the fire was still simmering and smoking, representatives from across Massachusetts converged on Salem for the meeting of the General Court, even though they all knew it had been canceled by Governor Gage the week before. They wanted to meet. They made a show of waiting around for the Governor, and then met on their own, in a completely autonomous assembly, a new Provincial Congress. This body, with John Hancock as its chair, became the de facto of Massachusetts, strengthening its resolve and powers with successive meetings in Concord (October 11-14) and Cambridge. But it started in Salem.

John Hancock drawn by William Sharp.

 

Two events in commemoration of the formation of the Provincial Congress:

In Salem, October 7: 250th Anniversary of the First Provincial Congress: https://essexheritage.org/event/250th-anniversary-of-the-first-massachusetts-provincial-congress.

In Concord, October 11: Exploring Our Democracy Our Rights and Responsibilities: https://www.wrighttavern.org/programs/#october11.

 


The Salem City Seal

Last week, the Salem City Seal was an agenda item for a meeting of our City Council: apparently there are concerns about its representation and plans for its replacement. I don’t know much more than that, as I wasn’t able to attend the Council meeting or any of the previous subcommittee meetings that have brought us to this point. The Council sent the matter to another subcommittee, I believe, so hopefully a public process of deliberation will ensue. I do think it is appropriate and even useful for a community to reconsider past representations on seals, statues, and other expressions of collective heritage or identity, as long as those conversations are public, so I’m hoping to contextualize this discussion a bit. I’m also kind of curious about the history and reception of our city seal myself, as it always struck me as rather unusual. So I spent a few hours this past weekend digging into some primary and secondary sources—certainly not long enough! What follows is certainly an impressionistic history and a work in progress, but first, here IT is:

So as you can see, there are some variations of this image. The first seal is the official one, which I have taken from the city’s website, and it is accompanied by this description:

The City Seal was adopted as the insignia of the City in March 1839, three years after Salem was incorporated as a City and 213 years after its founding. The Seal depicts a ship under full sail approaching a coastal land in the East Indies. A native inhabitant in traditional garb stands in the middle, surrounded by plants of the region. A dove sits atop the scene, with an olive branch in its mouth. The City motto, “Divitis Indiae usque ad ultimum sinum” – “To the farthest port of the rich East” – is below. The Seal is ringed by the incorporation dates of both the Town of Salem, 1626, and the City of Salem, 1836.

The second seal is also from City Hall: I think it’s the watercolor image produced by Salem artist Ross Turner but the city’s art inventory is not very descriptive. An article in the Beverly Citizen from the spring of 1888 informs us that “Mr. Ross Turner, the artist, has made an interesting and handsome study of the city seal of Salem, designed half a century ago by Colonel George Peobody, who is still living. Mr. Turner adheres to the original design, which has suffered a great deal at the hands of engravers and others.” The third and fourth images are from a pediment carved for the President of State Street Bank which came up at auction a few years ago and the last is from a really fun book, Town and City Seals of Massachusetts by Allan Forbes and Ralph Eastman, which was published in 1950. If you browse through this last book, it’s immediately apparent how unusual the Salem seal is: it’s the only one recognizing a foreign identity and region as integral to the history of the city/town. Every other seal has a recognizable landmark or person or industry from that place—there are quite a few ships but Salem’s is the only one on the other side of the globe! I think it’s one of the oldest seals in the book, too: Massachusetts called for every town and city to come up with a seal only in 1899, when Salem’s was recognized as “ancient.”

The designer of the original seal in the 1830s was George Peabody, son of the wealthiest pepper trader in Salem, Joseph Peabody, and a city alderman. There were deliberations before its acceptance and commission, LOTS of deliberations due to “diversity of opinion”: you can read all about them in the March 1866 volume of the Historical Collections of the Essex Institute. There seems to have been universal agreement that the seal was to represent two things: Salem’s unrivalled prosperity and Salem as City of Peace. Given Peabody’s background, it’s understandable that he chose to depict the personage of a distinctly East Indian man from the Aceh province of Sumatra rather than a more generic “Eastern” figure: this region was the source of the pepper which had enabled Salem’s commercial ascendancy. Joseph Peabody alone is credited with 61 voyages (6.3% ot the total trade)  to Sumatra alone from 1802-1844, and 100 voyages (or 10%) with his son-in-law John Lowell Gardner): this was the family business. The pepper trade was also Salem’s major business between 1799 and 1846, with 179 ships engaged on multiple voyages. The 1866 account of the Salem seal’s approval concluded that “it was her shipping, fitly typified by this design, carrying the fame of her merchants as well as the flag of the country into unknown  areas, that made her name in the first half of this century, a synonym for commercial honor, enterprise and success, throughout the other hemisphere as well as this.”  The second theme of the seal, peace, symbolized by the dove bearing an olive branch, is a bit more of a tough sell in this specific historical context, given the fact that the 1830s was the decade which saw two U.S. military interventions in Sumatra in retaliation for native attacks on American shipping. The connection between peace and commercial prosperity was often emphasized in early nineteenth century newspaper accounts as it was very clear to everyone that Salem’s era of prosperity began after the American Revolution. The pepper trade had been a dangerous one from its beginnings at the turn of the century, but the 1831 attack on the Salem ship Friendship certainly brought things to a head with the first Sumatram intervention, often referred to as the “Battle of Qualah Battoo” (now Kuala Batee) in the following year. The broadside below (from the Phillips Library’s digitized collection) is representative of the “war fever” of the era, but it was printed in Portland, Maine rather than Salem. The Salem accounts are a little less “patriotic” and a lot more detailed: they note the precise number and names of those who were killed or wounded (five and six rather than “all”), everything that was taken, and call for restitution.

George Peabody’s seal was designed a mere four or five years after this engagement, and both his family and his city wanted to continue this valuable trade. When I look at this solitary Sumatran, I tend to identify him with Peabody family friend Po Adam, a local dignitary who warned the Americans about the coming attack on the Friendship and helped them recover their ship. This was a sacrifice on his part: he wrote to Joseph Peabody afterwards that his acts had earned him the “hatred and vengeance of my misguided countrymen” and that “the last of my property was set on fire and destroyed, and now, for having been the steadfast friend of the Americans, I am not only destitute, but an object of derision.” This identification is only conjecture on my part, but the original figure on the Salem seal was certainly more respectful recreation than stereotypical figure. The connection between Sumatra and Salem endured through the nineteenth century into the twentieth, even into the twenty-first. It was referenced in regard to the new (well not really) heritage trail or “yellow line” just a few years ago, and much more significantly after the terrible 2004 tsunami in the Indian Ocean, when relief efforts on the North Shore were organized in deference to the “old ties” between Massachusetts and Sumatra. Almost 20 years later, it seems like these ties are broken, or about to be.